


His Story

by DianaMoon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Canon, Backstory, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Brotherhood, Brothers, Canonical Character Death, Challenge Response, Character Study, Childhood, Dark, Death Eaters, First War with Voldemort, Gen, Gen Fic, Haunting, Inspired by Art, Inspired by Music, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-05
Updated: 2012-04-05
Packaged: 2017-11-03 02:05:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DianaMoon/pseuds/DianaMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a story about a boy who became a man only when he gave his dying breath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Story

**Author's Note:**

> This story was actually finished in time for the A_Humanent fest deadline but I was waiting for the edits to come back and it never did. After that I never got around to posting it. Nonetheless, it's not an excuse as this fic was gift for aurora_enkeli. As I never did officially post it on LJ, not backdating this one, though originally written in 2006-07 I believe as it was written pre-DH... This was a joy to write as the page given to me gave me great inspiration.
> 
> I tried to write this as if someone was telling you the story out loud, and tried to keep the consistency of present tense, so fyi. The latter half of this story was heavily influenced by a single song, “Sleep” by the Dandy Warhols. It works fabulously with this fic. Full of symbols and hidden meanings, I hope this story all makes sense to you. ^_^

  


_There is a story about a boy who became a man only when he gave his dying breath. Depending on whom you hear this story from; the boy was either an unsung hero or a cowardly deserter. In reality, he was simply a victim to destiny._

It begins with a recurring dream. He doesn't remember when he started having it, only when it becomes more vivid than any other. That was the night after his older brother leaves for his first year of magical schooling, though the boy does not understand why. At first, he thinks it is the anxiety of sleeping alone, but then it happens during the holidays even after his brother returns home. He sits up, cold from the sweat that clings to his body. The soft breathing to his right means his brother is still asleep.

The waxing moon sends bright beams through their bedroom window. He pads softly across the room to reach it, drawn to those columns of light. To him, they are comforting, safe. For, in his dreams, the moonlight protects him. He runs his fingers through the light, the shadows moving softly below. Out the corner of his eye, a darker shadow looms. For a moment, the boy believes the monsters from his dreams have escaped. In reality, it is simply his brother, sleepwalking like the many times before. The boy sighs and leads his brother back to their beds.

* * *

A little less than a year goes by and the boy finds himself in a Great Hall. He realizes immediately that he doesn’t like this hall, full of strangers and nooks and corners that hide anything or anyone. He’s reminded of his dream, of the countless beams of light and the darkness. He can’t help but notice that while his brother stands in light, he is lost in shadows.

* * *

As the boy grows, so does the dream. With each passing year, the dream becomes more vivid and real. As the rift in his family widens with every row, he feels his brother and his sanity slipping farther away. Yet he never tells a single soul of his fear. He never once mentions how remnants of his dream come alive in the day. From the corners of his eyes, he sees _them_ , the ones who haunt his dream. 

For him there is no reflection in the school's lake, only dark inky waters. In books, he knows that the text he reads is different from everyone else's, for not every passage should speak of deadly touches and chambers and dead ends. 

He keeps this all to himself and instead throws himself into his parents' ideals and beliefs. His brother is long gone from his grasp, having found a new "brother" and abandoning their childhood promises to protect each other (always). This boy never once fights his destiny. He instead walks the path he’s given, believing it is what he wants and not what is expected of him. 

The years go by with his dreams the same every night. They begin to invade his mind, his thoughts, and his senses. The whispers speak of verses forgotten. It distracts him as the mark burns his arm, his soul. 

He lives on as best as he can, doing as he’s told. Soon, there are talks of a prophecy to come, and something lingers in his mind of a prophecy long forgotten. He can only remember it had to do with brothers. From his cousins, he learns the truth. He learns of what this war really is about. He makes a choice then. When asked to go to a cave to receive updates from a guard there, he accepts. It is a simple mission for an easy boy like him. He doesn’t question why the meeting place is there. He just goes.

Once he reaches the place, he is suddenly thrust back into his dream world. ‘Here it is,’ he thinks. Relieving the guard, a decrepit house elf, with a quick spell, he stares at the rock face before him. Finally, the dreams begin to make sense. They were preparing him for this day. As he goes through the motions of his dream, quickly finding the entrance to the hidden cavern, he questions whether he’s still awake or maybe…just maybe he is still a sleeping boy. And maybe it has _all_ been a terrible nightmare. 

However, he realizes he is not dreaming when water and blood are dripping onto the cavern floor. Like in his dreams, the cave is dark save for a shaft of light that seems so far away. Yet he knows the exact distance. He also knows that there is a dark lake a few meters in front of him. As he enters the boat that he knows is there, he feels eyes upon him. The inferi are watching him, but they do not attack. A part of him wishes it is his brother sleepwalking again instead, and a part of him wishes this was merely a dream.

In the center of the cave there is a single column of light. It feels as though it is his salvation. In that column of light is a chalice, one that he knows too well. This time around, however, there is a difference, for in the dreams he is alone and drinks the chalice without question. Now, in this reality, he sees his brother, years and years older than he should be. His brother's chest is filled with markings he can barely make out. His brother is wearing a sad smile. The same one the boy saw when his brother left him for good years earlier. He does not know why he sees his brother and cannot decide whether he’s a ghost or a hallucination. Either way, he is calmed by the sight of him. 

The chalice is now a mere cup. Next to it is a well full of a dangerous potion. He takes the cup and drinks away the contents even though it turns out to be more painful than he could have imagined. As in the dream, this part is a blur. He remembers switching them, he remembers writing a note. All the while, he feels as though his brother’s eyes are upon him, waiting. When he is done, he looks up. It is then that he can make out the markings, or the tattoos rather, and he gasps, his blood running cold. He drops the cup and it rolls away, into the water. He runs. Away from the light, away from his brother’s ghost (for that is what he must be) and away from inferi, he runs. He clutches his ill-begotten prize to his chest. The magic of it hums in his ears.

He heads home, for it is the only haven he ever knew. It is empty, like a grim, old, and abandoned house. The dreams come back at full force, haunting his waking mind. He runs upstairs to the room where it all began. The moon is nearly full again; the air is crisp because the window was left open. The curtains flutter and he swears that he can see his too old and–can't be–dead brother in them. Downstairs, there’s a large crash and sounds of people breaking through the old wards. 

He knows now that it is too late. It'll only be moments before they find him in his room. There's nothing else he can do but stare at the future ghost of his brother. He sees the ghost try to move past the curtains but fail. The boy throws the locket in anger towards the ghost, believing he's all alone again, that his brother will not fulfill his promise. The locket passes through his brother and out the window, landing in the well tended garden. As the angry footsteps and shouts draw near, he wonders if his still breathing brother knows of their fate. When they surround him, furious at his betrayal, he wonders if he ever had a choice. Looking past his soon-to-be-executioners, ignoring their demands of where and how, he stares into his brother's sorrowing eyes. He reaches out towards the moonlight. ‘Just a touch,’ he thinks. A flash of green invades his mind as he feels the chill of his brother’s outstretched fingers against his own.

 

_As with all stories told aloud, this one ends with a moral. The brothers **did** have a choice. The secret dreams that they both been having were to warn them of their fates. While one chose to deny fate, the other chose to accept it. One became a man for only a breath, the other only in death. We are all victims of destiny. We can choose to deny or accept destiny as these brothers had, or we can choose to defy that destiny and live the way **we** want.  
_


End file.
